


We're All a Little Dirty, Darling

by mind_and_malady



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Lawyer!Michael, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, cop!Lucifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5229059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mind_and_malady/pseuds/mind_and_malady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is a lawyer with quite a bit of hidden dirt under his nails, and Lucifer is the snarky sonuvabitch cop who keeps trying to get in his business. To say that Michael is frustrated with him would be the understatement of a century.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're All a Little Dirty, Darling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andsowefell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andsowefell/gifts).



> For andsowefell, who requested michifer porn with cop!lucifer.

Lucifer is a menace. He shows up exactly when Michael doesn’t want him around, always with that goddamn smirk on his face. There’s a glint in his eyes that tells Michael that Lucifer knows. God only knew how, but he did. He knew what Michael occasionally spent his money on and maybe even where he hid some of the shit he got.

Which raises the aggravating question of why Michael isn’t in a jail cell. Because Lucifer’s a fucking cop, and he’s a damn good one. Michael sees him deal with criminals and thieves and the local nightlife often enough. He can’t figure out what hours he works - it’s like the precinct has given up on controlling when he decides to show up and where, so long as he manages to meet his quotas every month.

He thinks Lucifer hasn’t turned him in for the past few months because he makes for an easy box to check. Something he can wave under his superiors’ noses and say “See? I’m making progress. He’s just very good at hiding things.”

Lucifer smirks over a glass of lemonade, eyes drifting over the luxurious sitting room. He seems as at home among the grandeur of Persian carpets and million-dollar price tags as he does on the streets at night in the worst part of town. It’s a fact Michael always notes as odd, around his irritation.

“I still can’t decide if this is legal,” Michael says shortly, fingers tapping rapidly against the leg of his pants.

Lucifer laughs. It’s a low sound, almost rough but not quite. The auditory equivalent of the drag of stubble against soft skin. Michael suppresses a shiver.

“Of course it is. I’m an officer of the law. You’re a lawyer and a politician’s son. Everything is _perfectly_ legal.” The way Lucifer’s tongue wraps around _perfectly_ , like it’s a compliment and an offer and a wish all at once, forces Michael’s fingers to still on the threads of his fine suit.

“Lucifer,” he says warningly, and Lucifer meets his eyes with a quirked eyebrow and a smile hidden in the corner of his mouth.

“Michael,” comes the reply, teasing and light.

Michael hesitates, and then gets to his feet. Lucifer’s other eyebrow comes up, and he sets his drink aside, head lifting in interest. “I don’t understand you at all,” he admits angrily.

Lucifer shrugs. “You don’t need to,” he says, calm but suddenly distracted. He’s never, ever been distracted before, not that Michael’s seen.

“I _want_ _to_ ,” Michael demands, his voice fierce, his will absolute.

All it earns him is a sigh. Lucifer rises to his feet. “Michael -” he starts, and this has gone on for far too fucking long.

Michael crosses the floor in three quick strides, plants himself firmly in Lucifer’s personal space. Lucifer blinks wildly, surprised, and leans away slightly. Michael sees the way his eyes flick down to his mouth, the uncertainty in his gaze when it moves back up.

He reaches out, plants a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. Lucifer holds his eyes, but when Michael puts on the pressure, he folds, sitting down neatly in the chair. Michael stands over him for a moment, and Lucifer smiles, slow but wide.

“What would you like, Michael?” Lucifer asks, head tipping slightly to the side. He leans back in the chair, arms resting on either side of it, legs spread. “You only have to ask.”

Michael doesn’t want to ask. He wants to _take_. He pushes himself forward and plants his knees on either side of Lucifer’s. His hands find a home curled around the back of Lucifer’s neck, thumbs digging into the spot just behind his jaw.

“I want you to _shut up_ ,” Michael snarls, and there’s a split second where Michael can see the devilish grin on Lucifer’s face, but then he’s too busy kissing the breath from them both to really care.

Lucifer digs one hand into Michael’s hair and pulls, his teeth drawing harshly against Michael’s lip. His other hand is already popping the buttons on Michael’s shirt, nails occasionally dragging against his chest and leaving harsh, raised lines. Michael keeps his firm hold on the back on Lucifer’s neck while he yanks at the cop’s belt.

“That’s not very nice, Michael,” Lucifer says, when they break apart to breathe, and Michael growls.

“I told you to shut up,” he demands, and Lucifer laughs.

“If you really think that’s going to happen -”

Michael shoves him further into the chair, glaring even as he drops the belt to the floor and undoes Lucifer’s pants. Lucifer is smirking at him, hands firm and cool as they explore Michael’s chest, right up until Michael gets a hand around Lucifer’s dick, that stupid smirk shattering as Lucifer’s eyes flutter and he bites his lip.

Michael makes a pleased noise, slides his hand into Lucifer’s hair and pulling his head sharply back. He strokes Lucifer slowly, a stark contrast to the brutality of the bites he’s leaving on the pallid skin of Lucifer’s neck. Lucifer ends up digging his nails into Michael’s back, hips pushing up, back arching, a whine tearing its way out of his throat.

“I - _Michael_ ,” he gasps, and the grin on Michael’s face is positively angelic as he simply stops. Stops everything. Lucifer glares at him, but then he laughs, head tipping back. “You’re cruel,” he manages, voice rough, and Michael shrugs.

“You like it,” he counters, and Lucifer grins again.

“True,” he allows, and leans forward, yanking the unbuttoned and thoroughly rumpled shirt from Michael’s body. “Can we take this somewhere else? A bed, perhaps?”

Michael hums like he’s actually thinking about it, sliding Lucifer’s pants down and off, nails scratching against skin. “Depends.”

“On what?” Lucifer starts in on Michael’s pants, only to find one of his wrists caught in Michael’s hand.

“On whether I’m fucking you or riding you.”

Lucifer makes a very interesting noise, and yanks his hand from Michael’s grip to get back to work on his pants. “Both,” he says, after a moment. “In whatever order you prefer.” Michael opens his mouth - maybe to say _no pick one_ \- but then Lucifer is shoving his underwear and pants off all at once and wrapping his hand around Michael’s cock. “I think you should sit down,” he says, lazily pumping his hand.

“Wh-”

“Because I want that in my mouth,” Lucifer says flatly.

The fight that Michael had started this with drains out of him. He feels like somebody just hit him with a brick. So he laughs, low and rough, and gets up, wraps a hand in the collar of Lucifer’s shirt and pulls him up with him.

“Upstairs,” he says, fingers slipping where he’s unbuttoning Lucifer’s shirt as the bastard twists his hand just so, thumb slipping over the head. “Stop that,” he demands, and Lucifer grins.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you _don’t_ want to get off? Kinky.” Lucifer laughs, cut off as Michael yanks his head down for a kiss full of teeth.

“Shut. Up,” Michael hisses into the air between them, and Lucifer smiles, sweet and so very fake.

They manage to get upstairs. The trip blurs into a vague haze in Michael’s head, hot and warm and interrupted frequently for kisses. His shoulders thrum from where Lucifer had pushed him hard against a wall and gotten a leg between his thighs, and he won’t be surprised if there are bruises on his back tomorrow.

The bedroom is the definition of opulence, matching the gold and creme colors of the rest of the house, with identical dark wooden furniture. Michael digs a condom out from the nightstand and Lucifer pushes him back onto the bed, crawls up after him.

“So what’s coming first?” he asks, rolling the condom over Michael and giving him a few torturously light strokes. “Fucking or riding?”

Michael digs his fingers into Lucifer’s hair, shuddering as Lucifer slides down far enough to get his face level with Michael’s crotch. “Are you going to suck me off or are you going to keep talking?”

Lucifer grins. “Fucking, then. Good.” The grin falls from his face for a moment. “If you don’t want me to bite your dick off, by the way, I’d suggest you don’t hold me down.”

Michael nods, and his hands find homes bracing his torso up to watch Lucifer simply swallow down all of him at once. Shuddering, he watches Lucifer do it again, and again, a beautifully steady rhythm and his _hands_ , touching and stroking in exactly the right way every time he pulled back to breathe. Lucifer is flushed and his eyes are dark, and Michael can see his cock bobbing hard and wet against his abdomen.

“Stop,” Michael gasps eventually, pushing at Lucifer’s shoulders. “Fucking christ, _Lucifer_ -”

The slightly hoarse laugh Lucifer gives nearly undoes him. “I don’t think Christ is here, Michael,” he says in stage whisper, and Michael laughs, reaches out and pushes Lucifer down to the bed.

“You’re awful,” he declares while crawling between his legs, but Lucifer’s expression only grows smug and pleased.

“You like it,” Lucifer purrs, smirking. He undulates on the soft sheets, stretching out and then spreading his legs shamelessly around Michael, arches his back just a little while the other man leans back to watch. “Are you just going to stare?” he demands, tone slightly mocking.

Michael’s hand comes down hard on Lucifer’s upper thigh without any real thought, but the strangled yelp it pulls from Lucifer sends a sharp bolt down his spine. Lucifer looks bewildered for a moment, struggling to gather his wits, and Michael decides he doesn’t want Lucifer to recover from the shock of it.

Lucifer chokes out a breath when Michael moves forward, pushes Lucifer’s knees to his chest and kisses him senseless. Michael groans when Lucifer’s hips push up into his own, and then he grinds back down, until there’s a rough rhythm going between them.

“I thought,” Lucifer’s voice hitches on a sharp gasp as Michael’s teeth sink brutally into his shoulder, “you were planning on fucking me?”

“I’m getting to it,” Michael growls, tries to silence Lucifer with another grind of hips and the pressure of fingers leaving bruises across the backs of his thighs.

“Hurry up, Michael, I want -” Lucifer cries out when Michael hits him again, hard on the curve of his ass this time, and bites his lip as Michael pulls away to dig through the bedside stand again.

He comes back with lube, already busy slicking his fingers. There’s no hesitation when he slides a digit inside, quickly followed by a second, and Michael grins as Lucifer writhes back against his fingers. He’s clawing at the sheets, nails threatening to rip the expensive fabric, gripping it tight as his spine arches up and his body pushes back against Michael.

“ _Michael_ -” Lucifer hisses his name, voice ripe with frustration and impatience, choking off as Michael adds another finger and crams the three digits against Lucifer’s prostate. He’s rewarded with the sight of Lucifer arching and letting out a weak moan, shuddering. “Michael,” Lucifer says again, breathy and halfway to a whine. “ _Please_.”

When he presses in, Lucifer groans, his eyes falling closed, his mouth slack. Michael has to lean his head against Lucifer’s shoulder and just breathe for a few moments to fight his way back from the edge. He feels Lucifer’s hands sliding up around his back, legs hooking around his waist. As soon as he draws back, he can feel Lucifer’s nails digging into his skin.

He’s going to feel this for days, even if it’s only by the scratches on his back. Michael kisses Lucifer, fierce and wild, until Lucifer breaks it to dig his teeth into Michael’s neck hard enough that Michael makes a strangled noise. Lucifer lets him go with a laugh that hitches into a gasp as Michael pulls his hair just the wrong side of too hard with one hand and viciously jerks his cock with the other.

Lucifer comes with a desperate groan, back arching and body shuddering, and Michael follows after him, head buried in Lucifer’s neck as he moans. They lay there, sticky and panting, until Michael pulls away and falls to Lucifer’s left.

The extent of the damage is apparent after a few minutes, when the haze and the endorphins have finally faded enough that things are clear again. Michael can feel several bites around his neck and collarbones, and he’s fairly certain that Lucifer’s nails had broken skin on his back. But a quick glance reveals that Lucifer got the worse end of the deal - Michael doesn’t remember biting him _that_ hard, but there are already a multitude of bruises blooming purple on his body. His neck is a mottled ring of green and purple, almost like someone had tried to choke him.

Lucifer looks nearly comatose, in fact. His eyes are closed, limbs sprawled everywhere that Michael isn’t, small shivers occasionally passing through him. Michael is suddenly possessed by the idea of climbing on top of him, kissing him until they can’t tell who is who, riding him slowly, so slowly, until they both ache and their thighs tremble and -

A small noise snaps Michael out of his head, and he realizes it’s Lucifer, cringing as he moves his legs. Slowly, Lucifer turns over and stretches, leaving Michael to admire the curve of his ass and the faint, red handprint that he’d left there.

“That looks nice,” he says thoughtlessly, and Lucifer turns a weary smirk at him before slumping back down.

“I’ll bet it does,” he says smugly, voice muffled by the pillow in his face.

Michael laughs low in his throat, and slides closer, one hand threading through Lucifer’s hair and scratching, much more gently now, at his scalp. He can feel Lucifer hum lazily, so he slides his hand along the slope of Lucifer’s back, over the curve of his ass, until he can line his hand up with the faint imprint he’d left behind earlier.

Lucifer hums again, shifting. “If you’d like to go another round, you may have to wait,” he says, warning and amusement all curled together.

“That’s fine,” Michael says, and presses a little more firmly against the imprint, just to watch the skin turn pale under his fingers. He smiles as he hears Lucifer’s breathing hitch, just a little. “Would you mind if I did that again?”

“Are you referring to the shameless groping, or to the rather impromptu spanking you’re trying to remind me of?”

That earns another low laugh, and Michael settles with one arm draped over Lucifer’s middle, his face close to the other’s. “Both,” he says.

Lucifer’s eyes slide shut as Michael’s fingers wander over his ribs with a firm touch. “Both is fine,” he says agreeably.

Experimentally, Michael slides his hand back towards Lucifer’s ass, curious when Lucifer starts to laugh. “Something funny?”

“You,” Lucifer says, eyes full of mirth when he opens them, grinning. “You’re _insatiable_. Do you not have any idea how hard you just fucked me, or do you just not care?” Michael merely smiles at him, and Lucifer rolls his eyes. “I’ll make sure to return the favor,” he says, for all the world sounding cheerful, but the hint of a threat hidden underneath the pleasant tone makes Michael shiver.

That seems to satisfy Lucifer, and he settles again, eyes closing. Michael brings his hand back up to Lucifer’s hair, running his fingers through it until they’ve both dozed off.

**Author's Note:**

> (psst go check out andsowefell's 50s samifer au. it's under her phxsphorvs pseud)


End file.
